by J Dawn King
“I hope you will accept my apologies for the pain I caused you. It was unconsciously done.” Darcy bowed again. “I am not engaged to Anne, nor will I ever be. She has no desire to be Mrs. Darcy and I have never desired her for my wife. Lady Catherine’s insisting a marriage will take place does not mean it will happen. She is doomed to bitter disappointment.”
Elizabeth carefully placed the rock back in her pocket and crossed her arms around her waist. She continued to say nothing.
“Pray, Miss Elizabeth, know that I would never dishonour you by offering for you when I was not free to do so. I did not think my aunt would share personal, family information with someone wholly unrelated to her. That she did is reprehensible. I will speak to her in clear terms this evening after dinner so she understands the error of her opinion and her conduct.”
Elizabeth raised her brow at this. He was a brave man.
It was as if that little gesture freed Mr. Darcy from the strict discipline of his stature as he visibly relaxed. “If I might,” Darcy reached into his pocket.
Before she saw the top of the paper appear, Elizabeth knew he had another letter for her. She lifted her palm to him and shook her head “no”.
Surprise flickered across his face.
“I apologise, but my pockets are full. While I am sorry to disappoint, the fact is that I have no place for a letter.” Elizabeth was joyous at being able to confound him.
Turning away from him, she watched the colonel throw a rock as hard and as far as possible. It landed a great distance beyond the pond.
“Oh, you! Very unfair, I might add.” She stepped to the officer’s left side, away from his throwing arm.
“How might that be, Miss Elizabeth? I would not want to suspend your pleasure.” The colonel smiled back at her.
She lifted the stone from her pocket, hefting it to test its weight and balance. Just before she let it fly, she replied, “I may throw like a girl, but I skip rocks like a boy.” Four long hops followed by three short ones crossed the stream before the rock sank to the bottom.
“Well done!” both men exclaimed.
From then on, it became a contest to see which man could throw the farthest. After the first two throws, jackets came off and sleeves were rolled up to give them freedom of movement. Not to be left out, each gentleman gathered the flattest stones to try to better the skipping record Elizabeth had set.
Once she realised she was seeing them as they were in their youth, she emptied her pockets to provide ammunition as she stepped back and watched the competition unfurl. It was a delight. Though they were highly competitive, when one bettered the other, a shake of the hand or a slap on the shoulder would be offered and shared between them. Their camaraderie, their laughter, and the teasing each was giving one another was insightful, so she used the opportunity to study both men’s character. What it revealed stunned her.
In reality, she could not take her eyes off Mr. Darcy. Charlotte’s words about being adored swirled around and around in her mind. Was she falling in love with the man in front of her, or was she falling in love with the idea of having a man treat her as Mr. Collins did his wife? The horrid realisation that she was again referencing her father’s cousin as worthy of imitation was appalling, though why should it be? Honesty begged an answer.
“Miss Elizabeth.” Darcy caught her attention. “We have four stones left. Might you decide how they are best utilized?”
He held all four rocks in his hand. She had never noticed before the breadth of his palm and the length of his fingers. She refused to ponder her observations any longer.
“Then might I suggest a fitting end to this tournament? Each of you will take a stone and hurl it as far as possible. The victor will be the one with the longest distance. The other two stones will be skipped by each of you to try to best my record, which I might add has stood against the mountain of rocks of which you have already disposed.”
She had to laugh at their expressions. Both men had rolled their eyes at her boast. They were such children!
Then they eyed each other and chose their stones. First would be the long-distance throw. Mr. Darcy went first. It was a perfect high arch that was released with a grunt and landed in the undergrowth far beyond the stream.
The colonel bounced his rock in his hand. Like his cousin, his greatest strength was on his right side. Stepping forward he threw the rock with all his might. Similar to his cousin’s, it curved high like a rainbow reaching to a distant pot of gold. Unlike Darcy’s, it hit against an extended branch from an old oak tree far short of the other man’s mark. Victory to Mr. Darcy.
“This is not over yet, my man,” the colonel asserted as he chose his last stone from the two left.
“You had seven?” he asked Elizabeth.
“I believe you are well aware of how many skips I made, sir.” It was said with a smile.
Bringing his elbow back after tucking the rock in the curve of his thumb, he let it fly low across the water. Three long hops and three short ones. Six. Elizabeth was still in the lead.
As Mr. Darcy bent to retrieve the final smooth stone, Elizabeth taunted. “I believe you are on the horns of a dilemma. As a gentleman, your tendency might be to graciously allow me, a lady, to win. However, as a sworn competitor against your cousin, to fall short of his mark would be a slight I would imagine he would torment you over for years. Am I correct?”
The colonel burst out laughing. “You have the right of it, Miss Elizabeth.”
Darcy held the hand with the rock in it out to Elizabeth. “Or, my lady, I could concede the victory to you without taking my turn. Richard would never know if he had bested me or not. I believe that to be far better torture than to beat him at this as well.”
“Ah, I catch your meaning, sir. Nonetheless, there is no honour in not trying.”
He bowed to her, a smile stretching from cheek to cheek. “As you wish.” Stepping back, he readied his stance and flung the rock over the water. One. Two. Three. Four long hops. Five, Six. Seven. The rock sank into the water, ending in a tie for her and Darcy, but a win over Richard.
Caught up in the moment, the colonel grabbed Elizabeth’s right hand and Mr. Darcy’s left, joining them together, lifting their arms into the air and officially declaring them winners. It was done as if she was a cousin who was a regular participant in their sports. When he stepped back to applaud, Darcy and Elizabeth stood side by side, their hands joined together. No gloves. No barriers. Only a sensation akin to the air after a lightning bolt had lit the night sky.
Darcy cleared his throat, and Elizabeth longed to do the same. The heat filling her face from her neck to her temple could be blamed on the excitement of the moment. She stepped away from the man who so unnerved her and dropped his hand as she did so.
“Pardon me, sir.”
For the first time, she saw mischief in Mr. Darcy’s eyes as he bent to retrieve his jacket and swiftly pulled the letter from his pocket.
“I believe you now have room, Miss Elizabeth.” Like he had done earlier inside the parsonage, he quickly placed the folded parchment into the front pocket of her dress which was still hanging open from the weight of the rocks. “To the victor belong the spoils.”
She looked down at the paper and back up to his eyes. She yearned to stomp her foot and growl. He had bested her twice that day. He irritated her. He angered her. He had made her laugh and made her question everything she had ever thought about him. Elizabeth knew exactly what she needed to do.
“Gentlemen, I believe it is time to return to the parsonage. I thank you for this afternoon’s entertainment.” Elizabeth turned and walked away, not allowing them time to fix their sleeves and their jackets. Within two steps she was running at full speed. At the edge of the glen, she stopped and looked back at them. They had not moved. She removed the letter from her pocket and held it in front of her. She could see Mr. Darcy lift his brow as he tilted his head in question. She shook her head without taking her eyes off of him, mimicked his same
movements, smiled, and spun back to the path. She did not look back.
“She is quite a woman, Darce.” The colonel caught the same smile on his cousin’s face as he had spied when they first headed to the parsonage that morning. “Are you sure you can keep up with her?”
Peals of laughter rang from one end of the glade to the other. “I will spend my life trying to do just that.
Curiosity ate away at Darcy, leaving an uncomfortable, nervous feeling in his gut. An unwelcome image of Mrs. Bennet fluttering her handkerchief and calling for her salts popped into his mind, and he shuddered at the similarity.
Had Elizabeth read any of his letters yet? He had given her three more than he had ever written to a female not his sister. The first was his explanation of his dealings with both Wickham and Bingley. At this point, he wished it unwritten or still in his possession as it had the power to resurrect bitter feelings and stir her ire. He had been angry when he wrote it and, instead of containing a sincere apology, it reflected his heartbreak at her rejection. His second was the one he had fretted over the longest. Never had he attempted to put his feelings into words before. Had anyone enquired into the possibility of him ever attempting to do so, he would have laughed in their face—until Miss Elizabeth. For her, he would move heaven and earth if it was needed— a task far easier than penning that particular missive. The third was an explanation of his supposed betrothal to Anne.
It was an easy leap for him to compare the two women. His cousin stayed hidden from her mother in the shadows. Years prior, he had encouraged her to boldly step away from the looming presence of Lady Catherine’s authority to accept her rightful position in her own household. Anne had looked at him as if he was an oddity for even suggesting she do so. Miss Elizabeth? He chuckled to himself. Never would she permit another woman to intimidate her. Caroline Bingley had not done so in Hertfordshire, and his aunt had not flustered Miss Elizabeth during any of her repeated attacks at Rosings Park. The young woman’s fearlessness was one of the qualities he cherished most about her; that inner recognition of her own intrinsic value. For a certainty, he would have to give credit to her father for instilling such freedom and confidence in his favourite daughter.
Surely, she would have at least read his closing lines as she had done on the first missive, or would she? For the last two letters he had planned his script carefully so his final words would leave a favourable impression just in case she perused the back page first. Darcy could not help but wonder whether or not his last sentence on this letter, in particular, would move her to accept his suit.
‘with deep respect and affection, I am forever yours, Fitzwilliam Darcy’
Was it too much? Too soon? Darcy impatiently ran his hands through his hair, completely unconcerned that his valet would frown upon the damage done to his coiffure. There was nothing else he could do. Whether or not she read them was out of his control. It was time to prepare for the evening meal, something to be dreaded when compared to the joy of the day.
This latest missive was not nearly as thick and heavy as the first two. Elizabeth worried at the possibility of this being evidence of Mr. Darcy’s feelings waning with the decreased number of pages. She held the first two letters in her left hand after rereading his closing statements on each of them. When she had pulled the last envelope from her pocket, her name was visible in his tightly-formed handwriting. Her heart wavered at her firm decision to not look at the back. She yearned to look. Just a peek! She was equally afraid. She needed to bravely face the words which had been intended for her eyes alone. Finally, after much time-wasting ridiculous deliberation, she turned it over and read the back.
She sighed. Respect and affection. They were the world’s greatest treasure, the pinnacle, the ultimate qualities of highest value to be desired and sought by every maiden of marriageable age.
Elizabeth placed the three letters together, carefully stacking them on the sill of the closed window. If she was inclined to be less introspective, she would open them and be done with it. Her curiosity would be satisfied and her sense of fairness justified. Yet, by doing so she would get a glimpse into the man she believed few ever saw. Was she ready to take a step which could not be reversed? Courage!
“No!” she told the empty room. “I will not.” As much as the letters had piqued her inquisitiveness, Elizabeth recognized the torment Mr. Darcy faced by her not opening them. She smiled to herself with glee, determined to continue on this course.
Dinner at Rosings, as usual, had been a lengthy monologue from the hostess’s end of the table. Opinions of everything from the current war in France to a tenant’s bunions had been meticulously reported on and dissected by no more than a party of one. From experience, Darcy knew he was not required to pay particular attention, merely nod on occasion and mutter an indecisive noise that could be taken by his aunt as agreement or not.
He had spoken to Anne before dinner, outside of her mother’s hearing, confirming her desire to never marry— in particular, to never marry him. The instant he had stepped close to his cousin, Lady Catherine had ceased speaking in an effort to overhear what she imagined to be a proposal. The lady was doomed to disappointment.
“Darcy, do you have a date in mind?”
His mind had wandered off to ponder the beauty of one of the guests at Hunsford, so he looked to the colonel to see if there had been something in the conversation he had caught which might indicate Lady Catherine’s train of thought. Richard shook his head, raising his shoulders in ignorance. Anne stopped chasing a pea around her plate with her knife, dropping her chin so her mother could not catch her eye. He was on his own.
“I apologise, Aunt. To what do you refer?”
“Your marriage to Anne, of course. I did not fail to miss your private conversation in the parlour before dinner and discerned you would not have approached my daughter unless your intention was to finally do your duty towards her.” His aunt pointed her fork at him as if to pin him to his seat until he replied in a manner acceptable to her.
“Better this subject is discussed in private.” Darcy looked directly into his aunt’s eyes. He would not be commandeered or coerced in a matter so monumentally important to his future.
“We will discuss it now.” She slid back her chair and stomped from the room.
“Do not let her change your mind, Darcy.” Anne’s voice quivered as she looked at him for the first time since dinner began. “I will have to do as you both decide, so I beg you to stand firm, William.”
“Thank you, cousin. Be assured that when I leave Lady Catherine’s sitting room, I will be as unattached as I am now.”
Twenty minutes later, the front door slammed with such force that the impact reverberated throughout the massive building.
As Darcy walked briskly from Rosings to the parsonage, he kicked at every stone or stick threatening to slow his pace. To think, he had thought Elizabeth’s rejection was the height of his ire! Ha! Never before had he wanted to do physical harm to a woman. But at that moment in time, he would gladly have stuffed a gag in his aunt’s mouth and trussed her like a bird ready to be cooked and placed in an oven. A hot oven.
When he arrived at Hunsford, he inhaled three times deeply before knocking, grateful the house did not keep a butler. He needed time to calm himself.
Upon being directed to the parlour, his eyes found the one woman who held all his hopes and dreams in her petite hands.
“Mrs. Collins, might I have a word in private with Miss Elizabeth and would you attend us?” He was intensely grateful the master of the house was not present, as he neither wanted him to know the details of the conversation nor report his presence at Hunsford to Lady Catherine.
“Certainly, sir.” Charlotte whispered to her young sister, who immediately vacated the room. Taking a seat in the corner, she quickly chose a project out of the mending basket and went to work.
“Mr. Darcy?”
He could see the confusion in Miss Elizabeth’s eyes as he stepped closer to where she
had stood at his abrupt entrance.
“Do you have the letters?”
“I do.” She pulled them from her pocket. When he glanced at Mrs. Collins, Elizabeth added. “I trust Charlotte with my secrets, but did not know if the loyalty of her maid belonged to her mistress or to Lady Catherine.”
“Would that I had done the same.”
“Sir, what has happened?”
“Mrs. Collins knows of all three?”
“She is aware of the first two.”
“Have you read them?”
“I have not.”
He wanted to demand, why not? He sucked in a breath and let it out slowly.
“I beg you to do so now.”
From his countenance, Elizabeth understood it was not the time to tease. He looked defeated. And angry. Taking a candle to a chair by the window, she used the light of the rising moon to determine which of the three was the first. Out of habit, she turned it to read the farewell. ‘I will only add, God bless you. Fitzwilliam Darcy.’ In this instant, she suddenly hoped it was a portent.
Breaking the seal, Elizabeth unfolded the pages and started reading. Within seconds, her hand went to her throat and the colour left her face. Darcy recognized when she had arrived at the point where he discussed the events from Ramsgate where his former childhood friend, George Wickham, had encouraged his then fifteen-year-old sister, Georgiana, to elope.
The memory of her disclosing the plan the day before they were scheduled to leave for Scotland, and her subsequent heartbreak at finding out her dowry was Wickham’s sole motive, was as fresh as if it had happened only moments ago. Darcy brushed his hand over his mouth, striving to keep himself under good regulation.
“Your poor sister,” Elizabeth whispered. She kept reading, finally reaching the end.
Pulling a chair close so their conversation could continue in private, he began relating the conversation with his aunt Catherine.
